A/N - Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Hope its ok.

Chapter 7

Vic jogged down the silent corridors until she came to Walt's room, anxious to see him. She entered quietly, expecting to see Cady there, but the room was empty, except for the patient asleep on the bed. The light was dim and the room still. She crept in and eased herself into the same chair where she had anxiously spent the previous night. Walt was sleeping. Vic felt a pang of disappointment. She desperately wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice and see those wonderful eyes staring back at her.

He looked better, she noted. The deathly pallor had left him and he was breathing more easily and unaided. All positive signs she knew and she was so grateful. She reached for his hand, took it in hers and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.

Walt had sensed someone entering the room and it roused him from his slumber. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping. When he felt the warmth of a hand being slid into his, it gave him comfort. He felt the brush of soft lips against the sensitive skin on the back of his hand.

Vic almost had a heart attack when he spoke.

"Cady?" Walt whispered, thinking that it was his daughter who had returned.

"No, Walt, it's me. Vic," she said, standing so he could see her more clearly.

"I thought you were Cady," he said, his words slightly slurred as his senses returned.

"She's gone home to get some rest," Vic said, assuming this to be the case. "I thought I'd check in on you before heading home. Jeez, Walt, you gave us one hell of a scare."

"Did I?" he asked, shifting slightly in the bed. "Help me sit up," he said feebly.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Vic said, afraid she'd cause him further injury.

To her horror, Walt started to push himself up. His forehead creased with discomfort and Vic quickly reacted, grabbing pillows to put behind him.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Walt," Vic said, unable to hide her concern.

Walt eased back against the pillows. The simple act of sitting up had been a huge exertion on his body. It took a few seconds for the sound of blood pounding in his ears to clear. Only then did he realize that Vic was speaking to him.

"…and you really need to take it easy, Walt," Vic said seriously.

Walt nodded. He tried to moisten his parched lips, but his whole mouth was dry. Vic realized instantly what he needed. She walked around to the other side of the bed and grabbed a plastic cup off the side table. She filled it from a jug and offered it to him.

"Just a sip," she said, not sure if he was allowed ingest anything just yet.

He took a sip and then another then lay back.

"Better?" she asked.

"Thanks," he replied.

Vic returned the cup to the table, then stood and looked down at Walt, smiling as she did. It wasn't often that Vic smiled that way at Walt.

"What?" Walt asked, feeling self-conscious.

"Nothing," Vic said coyly. "I just realized how close I came to losing you, Walt, and I don't ever want to go through that again."

"I can't remember much of what happened," he told her.

"Well, I'm never going to forget it," Vic replied earnestly.

"So...…" Walt said, seeking elaboration.

"You got shot, Walt," Vic said, stating the obvious.

"That much I figured out," he replied, with the hint of a smile. "But how?"

"Stupidest, dumbest, shit luck from what I can figure," Vic told him in her usual eloquent way. "You interrupted a robbery when you went over to the bank. Can you believe it? The little punk panicked and shot you twice. But you got him too, Walt. The kid bled out. They found his body outside of Fairview. The driver's still in the wind though," Vic informed him.

"A kid?" Walt asked solemnly.

"Well, when I say kid, he was seventeen," Vic told him, trying to take the sting out of the news.

"Seventeen," Walt said with a sigh, trying to absorb the fact that he killed a kid. To his surprise, tears began to form in his eyes. Vic noticed and she realized that she could have chosen a better time to have told him. "He was just a kid," Walt said sadly.

"Look, Walt. You had no choice. He almost killed you," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. The closeness felt right. "Well, I for one am glad he didn't," she said, gently turning his rough face towards her with her free hand.

His watery eyes met hers. She could see that inside he was in turmoil.

"Ssshh," she said, before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

He pulled back a little surprised, plenty confused, and looked into her eyes again. This time his eyes questioned the intimacy of her actions. She grinned at his confusion, leaned towards him and kissed his lips softly once more.

Walt wasn't sure what to think. His head was in a spin, his emotions in chaos. His medications were messing with his head. He had killed men before in the line of duty. He couldn't understand why this one upset him so? He battled his emotions and suddenly she was there, right when he needed her.

He was in Vic's arms. He had dreamed of being in her arms before, guilt-ridden fantasies, but never like this. It felt so good to be held by her. He allowed the tension release from his body and his head drooped forward. A single tear escaped down his cheek. Seeing this foreign, emotionally vulnerable Walt for the first time, Vic pulled his head to her chest and stroked the back of his head, as a mother would that of her crying child. He allowed himself to wallow in the comfort of her bosom for a minute or two before pulling away.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed at being so openly fragile. "I don't know what…"

"It's okay, Walt. Don't be sorry," she interrupted. "I could hold you like this all night, you know, but I know how uncomfortable that would make you. It doesn't have to be like that. I wish you could see that."

She slid off the edge of the bed and stood to leave. Walt reached for her hand and held on to it, looking up at her without a word. They gazed at each other for a brief moment until Vic broke the silence.

"I should go," she said. "We should talk when you're feeling better though, Walt. Ignoring it won't make it go away. But right now I need you to rest and get your strength back."

Vic started to walk away before stopping and turning back to him.

"By the way, we got the guy who attacked Molly Grady," she told him.

Molly Grady, her name jogged a memory.

Walt closed his eyes to bring forth the recollection. He remembered that morning at the Grady ranch. He remembered getting her to the hospital. He was about to ask Vic how Molly was, but when he opened his eyes, she was gone. He was alone. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of what had just happened. He hoped it meant what he thought it meant.

Then he glanced around his room properly for the first time. It was bare, minimal, with only a few necessary furnishings. He spotted a tiny bag attached to his IV tree. It was a medicine bag, so he knew his friend, Henry, had been there and was watching out for him. He tried to assess his injuries. He visually checked out the bandage on his chest. Obviously wound number one, he noted. The other uncomfortable are was his upper leg. He reached down and could feel the thick bandaging around it. He wondered if the bone had been hit. If it had, he would be out of work for a long time.

The idea appalled him. The thought of sitting home for 6 months was a nightmare. He would have to talk to the doctor, he decided. But he felt tired again, despite being awake for only a short while. He would sleep now and talk to the doctor in the morning.

For the rest of the night, his sleep was restless. He dreamed of Martha, his deceased wife. He was at home in their cabin, in bed. He lay there gazing at her while she slept. They were so happy, so normal. He fell asleep beside her thoroughly content. The next morning he woke and rolled over to greet her but she wasn't there. He heard noises from the kitchen and when the bedroom door opened, in walked Vic, wearing only a t-shirt and panties, carrying a steaming cup of coffee for him.

It was confusing and disturbing to him. He woke suddenly, ending the dream, before eventually drifting back to sleep.

Martha visited him again in his dreams. This time she was visiting him in the hospital. She stood at his bedside with her arms folded. She was cross with him. She chastised him for not taking better care of himself. It felt so real and even though she was mad at him, he didn't care. She was there.

But then as quickly as she was there, she was gone and the scene changed. This time he was at her bedside back in Denver the night she was stabbed. He was pleading with her to hold on, but she knew she was dying. She was strong and brave and knew what her death would do to her devoted husband. She begged him not to let this destroy him.

The hospital scene faded and it was just Martha. She was at their favorite place on the mountain. The sun was shining and she was smiling and radiant. She spoke to him.

"You have to live, Walt. You deserve a life and our daughter deserves her dad back. Allow yourself to be happy. It's okay, you know? You were a wonderful husband and I know how much you loved me, but I am gone, Darling. And it's time you let me go. Loving someone else does not lessen the love we had. That was ours alone. Let yourself love again my sweet and only then you will you truly live again. Be happy, Walter."

She conveyed her message and then she was gone.

Walt woke a little confused and had to wonder for a moment if what he dreamed was real or not. It was morning and he was surprised to find his deputy, Branch Connally, sitting in the chair beside his bed.

"Hey, Walt," he piped up when he noticed his boss's eyes open.

"Branch," Walt replied.

"You look better," Branch told him.

"Sure," Walt replied sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep and my prisoner is out of it so I thought I'd check in on you. Sorry if I woke you," Branch explained.

Walt frowned.

"You left a prisoner alone in the jail to come here?" Walt asked with concern.

"No. The prisoner is in the surgical wing. I shot him yesterday. He should be discharged today so I can formally charge him," Branch explained.

"Who is he?"

"Well, that's kind of a problem right now. He has no ID, won't speak to us and is as crazy as a bag of cats," Branch informed him.

"Are you sure he did it?" Walt asked.

"Well, we can't be 100%, but Henry tracked him from the Grady property. Rape kit hasn't been processed yet and Mrs. Grady still hasn't woken up, but we'll get the evidence. Don't you worry about that," Branch reassured him.

"Make sure you do. That lady and her family deserve justice," Walt insisted.

"Don't worry, I got this, Boss," Branch told him confidently. "By the way, the Feds are anxious to talk to you."

"To me? Why?"

"Eh, about the robbery, about you getting shot," Branch reminded him.

"Oh."

"So, can I tell them you'll talk to them?" Branch asked.

"I guess," Walt replied, sounding disinterested.

"I'll let Agent Mason know. I gotta go. You take it easy, okay?" Branch said.

Walt shrugged. Take it easy? What else could he do? He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. He was feeling a bit of pain now for the first time but his head was a bit clearer. He figured he hadn't received his medication yet this morning. It was going to be a long day. He was feeling a bit stronger although he was reluctant to move very much.

As the hospital came to life, Walt listened to the sounds from outside his room. Life went on. He relaxed tried to ignore the throbbing from his thigh. He closed his eyes and thought of Martha. His dream felt so real. Would she really forgive him if he loved another woman? Vic had caught him off guard last night, but she made him sit up and think about the possibility of a future for them. Even if they worked it out between them, even if Sean was out of the picture, what would Cady think? Vic wasn't much older than her. Walt could only see any possible relationship becoming a bone of contention between them.

And then there was the practical side of life. Could they work together and be in a relationship? What would his staff think? What about the towns' people think? It's a small conservative town. He couldn't imagine the Sheriff shacking up with his deputy going down too well.

He was snapped out of his musings by a cheery, female voice.

"Good morning, Sheriff."

It was Deb Wilde, a nurse whom he had met on a few occasions.

"How are we this morning?" she asked.

"Okay," Walt replied, as conversant as ever.

"How's your pain?" she asked, as she checked the monitors and the chart.

"Okay."

"Really? From the sheen on your brow, I'd say you have some discomfort," she said knowing his history of stubbornness.

"Okay, a little."

"Well, the good news is that I have your meds," she said with a wink. She injected the needle into the drip that was feeding into his arm. "That should take effect pretty soon. Now for the bad news," she said dramatically.

Walt had no idea what was coming next.

"I have to check on your wounds," she said, throwing back the sheet on the bed. Walt felt embarrassed by his relative state of undress. A hospital gown doesn't leave much to the imagination.

She gently unwrapped the bandage on his leg and revealed an ugly, inflamed surgical incision. She noticed Walt's face change at the sight of it. "Were you expecting a nice neat little bullet hole?" she asked.

"Kinda," Walt replied honestly.

"Well, the surgeon did have to dig around in there and patch up your artery to stop you bleeding to death," she told him bluntly. "You were lucky they got you here when they did."

"So I've heard."

"Looks okay," she said, as she removed the stained gauze and expertly replaced it with a fresh bandage. "All done," she said, as she replaced the sheet. She moved towards the second wound on his chest.

She carefully prized the bandage from the area around the upper right side of his chest. Walt looked down, curious to see the wound for himself. It wasn't as gruesome as the leg wound and the edges were neatly stitched together.

"Nice work, eh?" Deb said, as she gently cleaned around the edges of the wound with antiseptic. "No sign of infection which is good," she commented as she finished cleaning and redressed it. "All done for today. Do you feel up to some food?" she asked.

Walt shook his head. His stomach was messed up and he felt nauseous from the medication.

"No thanks," he replied.

"Nauseous?" she asked, suspecting that was the case.

"A little," Walt replied.

"The surgery and the meds can do that. I can give you something to help with that," she said. "I'll get the doctor to write it up. I'll be back. Don't go anywhere," she said with a laugh as she disappeared.

Walt couldn't help but smile. Deb was a breath of fresh air that was for sure. When she did return, she wasn't alone. Cady entered the room behind her.

"You see, I told you he was much better," she said to Cady.

"I can see that," Cady said sounding impressed.

"Take this, Walt. It will help with the nausea," she said, handing him a small pill and a cup of water.

"Thanks," Walt said, before swallowing the pill.

"I'll leave you to it so," Deb said before leaving the room.

Cady approached her dad silently, leaned across and enveloped him in her arms. She held him as she had never held him before all the while being mindful of his injuries.

"There was a while when I never thought I'd get to do that again," she told him.

Walt felt terrible for having put her through such a horrible time. He relaxed and let himself be held. Eventually Cady released him. She stayed with him for the morning. He was still weak and couldn't help but doze on and off during the morning.

Later that afternoon, after Cady had left, FBI Special Agent Mason and his partner, called to see Walt. He stayed for a while and questioned the sheriff about what he remembered from the day of the robbery. Walt explained that his memory was still sketchy. The agent detailed to Walt what was going on in their investigation so far. They told him that they had found the body of the gunman. The autopsy showed that he died as a result of blood loss from gunshot wound to the arm that severed the brachial artery.

Agent Mason informed him that the deceased was seventeen year old Dale Boucher, a Canadian national. He was a runaway, his mother having reported him missing eight months previous. They had no leads on the driver of the car. Some reports from the parking lot where the raiders stole the car immediately following the robbery suggested that the driver was female. Other than that they had nothing. Prints from the car didn't get them any hits. They were still investigating and Agent Mason promised to keep Walt up to date.

The rest of that day passed slowly. Walt rested. He hoped that Vic would call by, but he was disappointed. Ruby did call for a while and Henry stopped by. Walt was surprised to see his arm in a sling and his bruised and scratched face.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

"I made the mistake of going riding with your deputy," Henry replied seriously.

"Vic?"

"No, not Vic. Branch."

"Ah, sure, he told me how you tracked Molly Grady's attacker. These drugs are messing with my memory. Thank you, Henry, I owe you yet again," Walt said graciously.

"That's what friends are for, Walt."

Walt's recovery continued slowly over the next few days. Vic called several times, but always while someone else was there, be it Cady or Henry or The Ferg. Walt felt frustrated because he wanted to talk to her. He was starting to believe that what happened that night, the intimacy, the kiss, was a figment of his imagination.

He was starting to grow stronger. All he wanted now was to get out of that hospital and get home. Maybe then he and Vic could have that talk.

Tbc...

A/N - probably only one more chapter left. Stay tuned!